


Finding You at the End of Me

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 5 Things, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Permanent Injury, The Force Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Kylo Ren failed to keep his pants on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding You at the End of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furchte_die_schildkrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/gifts).



> Written as a treat for furchte_die_schildkrote, whose letter was very relevant to my interests.

He's home on holiday. Jedi training has been intense, even more so now considering the secrets he's been carrying on his shoulders these last few years. Lord Snoke tells him he is advancing well in his private studies, while Uncle Luke continues to beam pridefully on his achievements at school. Ben doesn't consider it a lie to keep quiet about his other tutor, not a real lie. He's doing extra work for marks that count on his own growth.

He will become the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. Lord Snoke says all he must do is embrace the intense emotions running through him.

Today, though, he's home. At fifteen, he's taller than his mother, and well on his way to meeting his father eye to eye. The three of them are barely in the same room at the same time, even with the special occasion of his return. Father has jobs to run. Mother has politicians to wrangle. Nothing has changed in the five years he's been training with his uncle, and everything has changed.

Ben never had many friends, and fewer still who followed the government as it traveled to the next Capital. His powers set him apart then, and the Padawan robes he wears set him apart now. Tired of this, he places them aside for a day when his parents are busy, costuming himself as a normal boy. He goes to find some fun.

"Jedi aren't supposed to crave adventure and excitement." His uncle's teaching pricks Ben's conscience as he finds the club. "Jedi shouldn't form attachments." Another teaching failed by the teacher. As he's grown, Ben has become aware of the adult world, and adult needs, and too the nature of adult hearts. His uncle never fell out of love with Ben's mother, only subverted the affection into a deep, almost obsessive love for Ben. "Jedi attend to the needs of the body, but keep the soul distant."

That's one he's interested in learning more about. Young people of all species flock the dark dance floor of this club. His veins flicker and flame with the two drinks he convinces the bar droid to serve him despite his age. Alight, Ben makes his way through the press of hot bodies listening to a popular song he doesn't know.

He's spotted someone who passes for a friend, a face he knows. "Hi." It's not hard to find the beat. If nothing else, Ben has learned astounding control over his own body.

"Hey." Poe Dameron always had a nice smile and a smooth way of making everyone in the room feel good when he spoke to them. That hasn't changed. Ben has changed enough to notice.

The music is wild and more than a little shallow. He doesn't mind, enjoys the way his body reacts to the sounds and to the presence of the man dancing close to him. Ben's younger but they are face to face, and the beat is just right. He sneaks a kiss, and doesn't tell that it's his first.

Outside when they're getting some air, Poe's got a weird vibe. "You're a little young for me," he says, but his hands are solid on Ben's arms and the first kiss was a long time and several kisses ago.

"In meditation years, I'm almost thirty." It's a lie and a stupid line, but it works. The hesitation drips away. Later, Ben's not sure if this counts as sex, just a warm hand on him and his own hand trying to keep up, mouths locked in an off-kilter clash of teeth. The thrum from the club is loud out here, and this alley stinks of thousands of other lovers who've used the convenient shadows for similar sticky purpose. He's not looking for love. Love is dangerous, something both his teachers agree on. He just wants something of his own, something not constructed by recreated Jedi lore or hissed in his ear by a Master whose name he dares not speak.

Poe's body tenses, and he comes in Ben's hand, making a mess as he bites down on his tongue. A moment later, he's on his knees in the dirty alleyway. Ben's head lolls back against the damp, foul wall as he's sucked down, coming fast against a quick, eager tongue. The taste shocks him out of his delirium when Poe stands up and kisses him again.

"You want to go somewhere else?" Poe asks, but Ben turns his head. He's shaky and electrified.

"I should get home."

"Okay. I'll walk you there." He knows the way, getting Ben safely up to the apartment and stealing another kiss outside. "See you later?"

"Sure."

Mother's home, though Father's not, and Ben lies about where he's been and what he's done. She doesn't seem to believe him but she's had a long day and won't push why he smells like smoke when she kisses his cheek. In his room, the communicator he keeps locked away is lit, signalling a new message from Snoke.

Ben stares at it, thinking about the music and the taste of the man's mouth against his, and all the people he can be. He doesn't have to answer. He doesn't have to go back to school. He can stay with his parents, pick up the same business as his father or go to a real school and learn law to follow in his mother's steps. He can find someone here, go dance every night.

When he wakes late the next morning with a bad headache, he opens the communicator without thinking.

* * *

Everything is dark, everything is rain, and nothing will quell the flame inside his heart. He's accepted this new name and thrown away his past. Lord Snoke said the deaths were necessary, that he can only ascend to greatness if he destroys the ties binding him to the ground. The bodies of the other students lie where they fell. Some are quite small. Those ties are gone. He should feel free.

He wants to vomit.

"What's the order?" asks another black-clad Knight, the warriors Lord Snoke has given him to command. It was his word that set this in motion. These are his crimes, bloody and dead.

"Find Skywalker. He has to be here."

Luke is the last tie, and for once, he's not here. He wouldn't have run and left the rest to die, which means that in the glorious irony of Ben's, no, Kylo's new life, he picked the day for the assault to be a day when his uncle was away.

Perhaps if he faces Luke in combat, perhaps if he strikes him down, he will stop feeling the encroaching horror that blackens his mind now.

"Report back when you find him." He turns and marches off. He knows this place. He spent the last years of his childhood growing stronger in the Force here, helping to train the younglings and sparring with his equals, becoming jealous of those whose gifts exceeded his own. Behind the dormitory, he stops for a breath, yanking off the uncomfortable mask.

That's not enough. Everything is constrictive.

His choice of clothing is complicated, based on some study of his grandfather's garb and of the old ways, when the Sith were mighty. Lord Snoke encourages him to take on their power as he dons his clothes, and the power has destroyed everything here. Fires burn. The few who still live and crawl futilely for their freedom are being slaughtered one by one by his Knights. He led this raid to claim Skywalker as Snoke's prize, and instead, he has not only allowed his former classmates to be murdered, but his own hand struck many down in his anger at not finding his target.

Kylo removes the armor, piece by piece, dropping it into the mud.

He covers his ears with his hands, and he tries to block out the sound of the pounding rain laughing at his defeat.

* * *

"General Hux will be the new commander of military operations."

Kylo stays kneeling before the projected image of Supreme Leader Snoke. "He's an idiot."

"That may be, but he is a useful idiot."

"He has obtained every promotion and gain due to his father." This rankles. Hux's father was also a fool, but more useful than his putrid offspring. His fever dream gave rise to the First Order's ranks. His son is a clinging shadow of that one good idea.

"Are you questioning my decision?"

"Never, my lord. I question his fitness."

"Then you do question my decision." The warning is clear. Accept this and stop complaining, or it will be Kylo's turn to be questioned.

"I accept your wisdom. I withdraw the complaint."

"Good."

Less good is the triumphant sneer on the man's face when Kylo emerges from Snoke's chambers and must give him a nod in greeting. Man, ha! He's hardly older than Kylo, and doesn't have the years of training and discipline, whatever of the latter Kylo has been able to scratch out inside himself. Hux is in command because there is no one else. The better military leaders have already fallen in skirmishes with the Resistance, and those few who know Kylo's past blame him for his mother's sins. With the wiser minds dead, and the Knights of Ren strictly out of the military hierarchy, only a few are left to rise to the top.

More things float than cream.

Snoke enjoys watching them snipe and snarl at each other. He intentionally compliments one in the other's presence to watch the second seethe. He goads fights yet calls them back before Kylo, because it's usually Kylo, loses his temper first. Kylo's private thoughts, the ones he hides from Snoke and doesn't like admitting to himself, point out that a better leader would encourage them to cooperate.

Things come to a head after yet another Resistance victory. "Someone must be spying on us," Hux whines to Snoke. "That's the only way they could have known." He looks directly at Kylo.

"You can't keep your own troops together. No wonder one of them has turned on you."

"How did your mother find out about our plan?"

The taunt is open enough that Kylo feels no guilt about lighting his red lightsaber and brandishing it before the tinpot General.

"Enough," says Snoke. "I doubt Kylo Ren's loyalties no more than I doubt yours, General Hux."

That's a double-barb to wound both at once. Kylo instantly wants to prove his own loyalty, and those same private thoughts realize that's the point.

From there, it's little question why the pair of them spend almost every minute in the other's face. What was low-level back-biting is now easily seen in front of the lower ranks. Someone is going to give, be it Hux's incompetence or Kylo's mercuric temperament.

Lord Snoke of course has a better solution.

Kylo feels the impulses come from outside, twisting the already-present simmers of desire into something more clear. Hux makes a cut about Kylo's family, and Kylo sweeps out his legs to drop the man to the ground. "I'll show you."

Unexpectedly, Hux rolls him over. "I'll show you first."

Kissing is for lovers and people who like one another. This is hate given a new venue. Kylo's strong enough to force Hux's head to where he wants, yanking his trousers down to get that spoiled, hot mouth on his cock, making Hux gag. Just the thrill of the power is enough to push Kylo right up to the edge, until a blow to his knees fells him. Hux kicks him back to the ground, placing one boot on his chest.

"Not today."

Stepping his full weight painfully on Kylo, he lifts the other leg and brings his boot to Kylo's face, a smug, anticipatory expression all over his own. "Shine it."

Kylo can knock him off. Hux is ready for him to try. Better to play along and decide how much he's going to push his advantage. Kylo pulls off his mask, setting it to the side to observe their broken dance. Disgusted with himself, he darts out his tongue and licks at the toe of the boot.

"Better than that."

The taste is fouler than anything he's experienced. His gag rises as he slathers as much spit as he can between himself and the awful leather. His eyes catch the cold pleasure on Hux's face.

"You should clean my boots every day. Crawl out of your lonely bed, come to my quarters, and make these shine."

Kylo pulls his head away and spits to help clear out the taste. "Only on the mornings you shove your tongue into my ass."

Hux frowns and that's the opening he's been waiting for. Kylo pushes him off and into the wall with one blow of the Force. Hux falls, stunned. Kylo's already on his feet, stalking over, mindful that his pants are undone. He yanks Hux up by the hair, staring into his face. "I could make you walk into an airlock and jettison yourself."

"And how would you explain that to the Supreme Leader? He already thinks you're an unstable child." Interesting. Hux isn't afraid. Kylo marks this as more evidence of his idiocy. He's pondering this when the punch knocks him over. 

They're grappling now, and Kylo feels the low line of Lord Snoke's commands in his mind overriding how he ought to react, which is to kill this pompous insect. Instead, Kylo's on his own knees, and Hux's trousers are coming off. True to Kylo's taunt, he feels the intrusion of a wet tongue, but only long enough to tease before it's followed by a much larger intrusion, lubricated only by Hux's spit on his own hand.

It's awful, and it's good. He snarls another threat. Hux bites his neck and drives in deeper until Kylo howls out in bitter pleasure as he comes.

After, there's no room for endearments or even a forayed tease at a 'next time.' They don't look at each other.

The next day, there's another lost skirmish with the Resistance. They're both summoned before Snoke like two errant boys. Hux says instantly, "It was Ren's error," and Kylo knows they'll fight again.

* * *

This is the worst thing that could have happened. Yes, the First Order is rising to prominence in this area of the galaxy, setting its sights on the ultimate prize. Yes, they've routed the Resistance, halving their forces in the last few attacks, driving them deeper underground where he's sure his mother is plotting in vain. Yes, he's poised to become the next Supreme Leader as soon as victory is complete and he takes his Master's place.

But there's the girl to consider.

He can't stop considering her, and that's the problem.

The first time was an accident, he's told himself. They were close to a powerful former Jedi Temple and the Force guided them, coercing them from their fight into a different struggle. Rey's mouth was hot and Kylo couldn't think, and they'd taken each other up against the wall of the temple, their moans echoing from the high, stone ceilings.

He can blame the Force for the first time.

The second time, they fought in a field of flowers Kylo had never seen before. He wound up with Rey straddling his hips, impaling herself on his cock as the scent of the white blossoms filled his nose and drove away all other hungers except to thrust. They spent hours unable to crawl away from each other, until the pale sunset closed the blooms and the night wind carried off the last of the intoxicating aroma.

The third time, the artificial gravity went out in the ship he'd hunted her down in, and they blamed the disorientation. How disorientation meant they would up floating by the roof with him buried inside her was anyone's guess.

Those indiscretions can be blamed on outside influence. The issue is that he can't as easily explain away why, despite the fact that they are foes and he hates her, Kylo can't stop himself from turning his every battle with this woman into passionate and acrobatic sex. That Rey is just as displeased does not make it easier to tolerate.

They've encountered each other on this lonely space station which is loyal neither to the First Order nor the dying Republic. Without his mask and his armor, Kylo is just another traveler. Rey is just another scavenger briefly making port before she wanders away again. No one knows them and no one cares as they stalk each other through the long corridors of this floating castle, nor as their lightsabers clash in an empty storage room. No one at all cares as Kylo pushes his mouth against hers to feel the familiar gasp and the thrust of her strong tongue.

He can blame the Force. He can blame the memory of the flowers. He can't understand why his hands have learned the easy fastenings of her garb, or how she's even faster relieving him of his. Her skin carries too many scars, some that he's given her, and his is no fairer, resting against her hot flesh, scar against scar, heartbeats in counter-rhythm to one another.

Want and need are easy to confuse. It's want that makes Rey shove his bare shoulders painfully against the floor. It's need that guides him easily into her, groaning at how slick she is in her anticipation.

He's ready to babble, ready to spills all his secrets, and she shoves the heel of her hand into his mouth. "Don't stop moving," she orders, and he can follow that command as she rides him, intent on her own pleasure.

Rey's hair has grown since they last met, curling over her shoulder and bouncing as they move together. He focuses on the sway of the curl, holding back. He's been hard in his pants ever since he caught sight of her in the landing bay, and it won't be long before he tips over. He doesn't want this to end, not yet. They can be enemies again in an hour.

He reaches out with his mind. Rey fights him here, too, before relaxing her defense. She's not thinking about him as she rises and falls on him, using him. Kylo isn't the one she wants, which is fine. Could be fine. She doesn't want him as much as he wants her. It's not fine.

"Feel me," he tells her in a Force command, pushing the pleasure he feels deep into her mind to share.

At once, Rey's thoughts are consumed with the electrical impulses running through Kylo as he drives himself into her. She feels him huge inside her, and she feels herself wet and tight on his sensitive skin, and he smirks as the feelings overwhelm her unprepared mind, as she sucks in ragged breaths around the orgasm coiling and ready in her.

She pulls off, pushing him even harder against the floor with her powers. She brings her needy clit to her face. "Finish me," she orders him back.

He is only too happy to lick his way into her, tasting her skin and her sweat. She's close enough that he could push her over with the flick of his tongue, therefore he holds her here on the edge as long as he can, one hand stroking himself. He can hear her curse him in her mind. Rey shouts when she comes, an eerie, pleasing sound he thinks he will never tire of. He pushes on, wringing out a second peak from her as she clutches at the floor, too overcome to pull away.

When she's done, she rolls to her side. Kylo is ready to finish himself inside her, but she's strong. As he goes to climb onto her body, she shoves him away hard.

This is unfair.

He pulls at her again, but he's met with her fist. "I'm done with you," she says and it's the last thing he hears as he's knocked unconscious. When he comes to, he's still hard, he's alone, and Rey has taken her own clothes as well as his.

Kylo rests his head against the hard floor. He's going to make her suffer for this the next time they meet, even if he has to beg.

* * *

The war was long, and they've all lost more than they can count. He has lost the driving purpose that goaded him for so long, traded for an uneasy alliance that toppled the same organization he worked so long to protect. He has lost his right leg to the knee, and no matter how good the replacement is, he knows it is metal and he is not. He has lost the last of the family he walked away from so long ago. He has lost another name.

He's not a prisoner. He doesn't have to be. He's collected enough enemies that the matter of his freedom is merely a short span of time between the end of the war and the first successful bounty hunter or assassin. He is choosing to spend that life on his own terms. Today, he sits and watches the birds land and take off from this ornamental pond in the heart of a city, gently encroaching on each avian mind to partake in the breathless glory of their flight.

A shadow crosses where he sits. "Hi."

The word is uncomfortable, bitter. He glances up but his senses are still attuned to everything that lives in the Force. He's been listening to Dameron's tentative approach for some time. 

"Hello." He returns his eyes to the larger birds sitting on the water regally as the tiny fluttering birds that populate this area flit around. He's not sure how they found this pool, drawn here by some instinct for water, even as buildings tower on all sides around them. He takes in the span of their huge wings, wondering how far they've traveled.

"It took a while to find you." Dameron sits down beside him. The war cost him an eye, a terrible thing for a pilot. "You changed your name."

"The old ones didn't fit."

"You're hiding. You know someone will find out who you are and what you did. Someone with a grudge."

He doesn't look at Dameron. "Is it you?"

There's a long pause, long enough for the galaxy to spin, for comets to twirl around their stars like dancers before hurling back out into the cold. "No."

"Then leave me alone."

"I'd like to. Kill you, I mean. I still wake up screaming when I think about what you did to me."

"That's common."

Poe chuckles darkly. "And you're still not going to say you're sorry, not for any of it."

"'Sorry' doesn't being back the dead or heal the injury. It won't rebuild a village. So what does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't." He stands. "Rey's off world. I notice you didn't ask so I'm guessing you already know."

"What Rey does is no concern of mine, as she's pointed out half a dozen times." She's gone somewhere with FN-2187, following some last piece of Jedi lore his uncle left behind. With uncharacteristic kindness, she offered him a place on the expedition. He declined. He's no Jedi. He's not sure what he is now.

"Right." Dameron turns to go. He hesitates again. "What you did, back on Dagelin Minor." He closes his mouth again. He sucks in a breath. "You didn't have to."

"It had to be done. No one else could have reached him."

"You made that choice. You could have left us to die."

"I didn't want to." He still doesn't know why.

"Anyway," Poe says. "Thanks. In case no one else ever says it."

He nods. He isn't up to 'You're welcome' right now, not about Dagelin Minor, not with the phantom pain still keeping him awake at night to deal with the rest of his personal demons.

"You have a place to stay?"

"I'm renting a room. I can't stay in one place long."

"Right. Ben?"

The name is another wound. He gave it up gladly, and now he doesn't deserve it back. But that was who he was back before everything went to hell. "What?"

"I was going to get dinner. Want to come along?"

The meal isn't great, but the company is better than he expects. They have enough old stories that don't hurt. Poe's eyes are still a little distrustful, still a little hurt. He wakes up with nightmares, but he's not the only one, and neither of them are ready to sleep right now.

This doesn't have to mean anything. It doesn't have to be more than two people who've already cut each other in their soft places. It's not salvation or even forgiveness for the wounds he left in Poe's mind, and there's nothing he can do for the wounds inside his own.

He's learned a lot more about sex since the last time. He's good at finding the place on someone's neck to suck, good at tracing his fingertips down a body to seek out the sensitive, ticklish zones that cry out for hot hands and lips to caress. He can take Poe deep into his mouth, relaxing his throat, holding him down against the rented bed until his tongue burns with salt. He can use oil to ready him slowly, each finger slick with promise until Poe's hard again waiting for him to line up his body and shove inside with a delicious, slow burn. He's met by a long moan.

He can't change the last twenty years. He can't bring back the fallen. He can't unwrite the story of his failures, not inscribed as it is in huge letters among the stars.

He can only feel the tight heat resisting him as he pushes in deep. He can only bend in for practiced kisses against Poe's top lip, as his bottom is sucked into Poe's mouth. He can only shudder at the careful undulation of the body under his, seeking out the right motion and the best angle until there's nothing but the need to come.

He can only wish he was fifteen again instead of thirty-five, and all his self-sown sorrow yet before him, and he can sob as he comes, mourning everything that never was.


End file.
